“I can’t believe you were shot,” you said, your voice trembling with concern as you looked at Carter. His bulletproof vest was on the floor beside him, and you could see the faint bruises where the bullet had hit.

“I got shot in my bulletproof vest, baby girl,” he said with a smirk, trying to ease your worries. “It’s just a couple of bruises. I’m okay.”

You gasped in horror, your hand flying to your mouth. “Why don’t they make better vests? That’s not bulletproof! It’s like when you fall in the pool and your watch stops working. That water-resistant, not bulletproof. They should—”

He cut you off with a soft chuckle. “I’m just fine. Call it bulletproof. See, it’s just a couple bruises.”

He reached over and took your hand, gently guiding it to his chest to examine the bruises. His eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, you forgot about the injury, lost in the intensity of his gaze.

You sighed, still worried. “How long do you have to be taped up like this?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper as you traced a finger along the edge of his vest.

“I don’t know. A couple of days, maybe,” he replied, his deep voice making the words feel less worrying than they should have.

“Oh, okay,” you said quietly, nodding but still not convinced. Carter leaned back, his weight resting against the table, his hands supporting him. He was trying to be tough, but you could see the strain in his eyes, and it made your heart ache.